


Alone

by BambooRooster



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Home is where the heart lies, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 20:43:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9343058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BambooRooster/pseuds/BambooRooster
Summary: Soft.. soft, softness. Softness that he recognized. Miles gripped at the familiar material, holding it in his hands. The feeling was like a mixture of heaven and home. Home, was that where he was?





	

Soft.. soft, softness. Softness that he recognized. Miles gripped at the familiar material, holding it in his hands. The feeling was like a mixture of heaven and home. Home, was that where he was?

Why couldn't he see? 

Miles struggled to open his eyes, his entire body almost feeling like it had been taken apart and glued back together. Tensing, he tried to call out, attempting to figure out why everything was so.. comfortable. This wasn't normal for the hell he had been forced into, this was far from normal. The chirp of a song bird caught his attention, making him fall silent. What was a song bird doing here?

Images.. images? Slowly, the sight before him became more and more clear. The blurry images merged, creating furniture, tables and other miscellaneous things.. all belonging to him. 

Miles held back a cry, laughing. Tears streamed down his face as he sat up, still clutching the soft material of his bed sheets. 

 

Maybe it was all just a dream, maybe he was okay. 

 

In fact, he was okay. Everything was okay. 

 

_He was home._

 

\--  
  


"Little piggy.. little piggy." Miles snapped awake, fear taking over his body once more. Steps echoed through the hallway, each one causing the floor to shake. Slowly, he sat up, peering out of the locker. Chris Walker, that big motherfucker.. at least he wasn't heading in his direction. 

The realization of still being in the asylum hit Miles like a brick, causing him to sink back down to the bottom of the locker. Cold, damp metal pressed against the reporters clothing, threatening to make everything even worse. Fuck you, humidity.

 

 

_Maybe home wasn't an option after all._


End file.
